When Heroes Die
by M. Rosenkov
Summary: Short fics of how the companions in DA:O dealt with the Warden's death in the final battle of the Fifth Blight.
1. the king and the hound

**THE KING AND THE HOUND**

**m. rosenkov**

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><p>War makes boys men.<p>

That is what one of the servants in the Arl's castle used to say to him, back before the Chantry and the Wardens and the Blight and this whole horrible mess.

_War makes boys men_.

Alistair—_King_ Alistair—looks down to the drink in his hand and sighs. Before he had time to register that it was the end—the _actual_ end—he had been ushered into the pub, offered all the alcohol the town had, and been showered with enough gratitude that it would have humbled even Morrigan. And though the pub had no roof and the floor still smouldered and it smelt like onions and darkspawn and vomit all mixed together (and before you ask, yes it is possible for something to smell that horrid), he cannot find it in his heart to smile or even talk.

So he took the drinks offered, letting the bitter ale (is it ale?) wash down the blood in his throat, and forgets.

Except he doesn't.

The townspeople buzz around him, listing off numbers and names like it means nothing, sounds of clanging armour and _"Oh no, not her" _or _"He was such a gentleman"_ intertwining with hardly sympathetic sighs as they thank the Maker it wasn't them. Like he should be doing, really—but as the ale warms in his belly and their voice grate his ears, all he wishes for is you.

_It's just me now._

Alistair's chair scrapes loudly as he stands, and he takes his leave, ignoring the barman's call for him to stay. Outside, the air is as cool as it's been in Fereldan for months, the first few droplets of rain falling from the sky now that the corruption has left the land. He is thankful—as the rain gains momentum, the people of Denerim seek shelter, and he is able to move through the crowd without being stopped or praised or even—Maker forbid—hailed.

He walks, until he finds an empty alleyway, littered with rubbish and burnt clothing, and there he sinks into the muddy street, and cries.

_It's just me now_

His armour is heavy on his shoulders and reeks of blood, shield dented and worthless on his back, and

_It's just me now_

and all he can do is sit there and think about how he must rule Fereldan alone now and how you aren't here to make him laugh and

_It's just me now_

and feel better, how stupid he was to think it was all perfect, how stupid and stupid—Maker, is he stupid—

Something cold and wet pushes against Alistair's already soaked face, and he starts, looking up abruptly. Big, woeful eyes of your mabari stare back at him, a small whine escaping from it's mouth as it's tail wags limply.

"What—"

The dog pushes its wet nose against his cheek again, this time also licking Alistair's face and almost knocking him over sideways.

"Okay!"

He pushes the dog's massive head back, and scratches it's ear, hoping that is enough for the beast. The animal whines in response, and lays down beside him, one paw resting on Alistair's leg and eyes slowly closing with each scratch.

The dog reeks of blood and wet animal—did you ever wash it?—but the heavy paw on his leg and the warm body beside his grounds him. And though the emptiness of you fills every fibre of Alistair's being, to the point where he doesn't know where he begins and the nothingness ends, he can, for the moment, accept that this is who he is now.

Warden. Hero. King. Alone.

Alistair wipes his cheek, and sighs, looking down to the sleeping dog by his side. "It's just us now, buddy."

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><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading! I have also uploaded these short stories to my Tumblr blog. I'm hoping that I can upload a chapter a day (though I wouldn't hold me to that). All the characters that are romanceable have been romanced - the rest are canon.


	2. the nightingale

**THE NIGHTINGALE**

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><p>She leans against a large stone pillar on a balcony that overlooks the whole of Val Royeaux, and thinks of you. The chiming of city bells draws the people out below, and she watches as they swarm the streets, a sea of colour, ready for a night of dining, drinking and dancing.<p>

Leliana is dressed for the occasion. She wears her pretty dress with her pretty shoes and her hair is swept to one side, just how you fashioned it on their late nights together in your little tent.

She is as beautiful as the day you first met her.

Months have passed since you slayed the Archdemon and ended the Blight, and she has been deeply involved in the Game since, the picture perfect Bard: not a tear shed, not a movement to betray, not a word uttered that would lead herself astray. But the absence of you tonight, Warden, is too much for her to bear. She cannot keep this mask on. She has prayed and prayed to forget you: for solace, for peace. And there has been no answer. Still, she desires for you; still she breathes only for you, and bleeds for you. Still, she cries for you, and—

… Maker.

She misses you so.

Leliana stays on the balcony, watching as people dance in the marketplace, their laughter drifting up to the sky and ringing in her ears. And she cries. She just cries, until the night has quietened and the sun's rays tickle the golden architraves of the beautiful buildings of Val Royeaux. She just cries, as the birds sing their morning songs and the market stalls open for the day. She just cries, in her pretty dress and her pretty shoes, with her hair swept to the side—the ghost of your hands on her face—your voice in her ear—

'_I love you.'_

She just cries, until she is nothing but a husk of the woman she once was, exhausted and broken and alone—without you.

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><p><em>Note: I apologise that these are so short - they were made for Tumblr. Thank you for reading though (I know that short chapters can get pretty annoying). I'll hopefully have another up by tomorrow :)<em>


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